


My Blood Paints Streets (Yours Draws Lines)

by GideonGraystairs



Series: Tumblr Fics [18]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Blood and Injury, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt Alec, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 20:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GideonGraystairs/pseuds/GideonGraystairs
Summary: Magnus isn't really sure when this became their thing.





	My Blood Paints Streets (Yours Draws Lines)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [Tumblr](http://raphaelsantiago.co.vu) 06/08/2016.
> 
> Requested by Anonymous as a line of dialogue prompt: "This is the second time I've come home and found you bleeding out on my kitchen floor." Malec, please?

Magnus isn’t really sure when this became their thing. When coming home to muddy boots leaving imprints on the floorboards and concerning scarlet spots became something more than just a near heart attack and the begrudging use of his magic. When stepping through the front door to silence and blood stopped being concerning and became routine.

The first time, it wasn’t a thing. It was his heart exploding in his chest and his hands shaking as he dropped everything to rush through to the den. His shoes tracked dirt down the hall, but he didn’t care as much as he cared about the traces of blood they kept for company.

It was Alec collapsed against the kitchen island, leaned heavily against the granite with his legs stretched out and hands pressed to his side. The path of blood stopped with him, screeching to a halt as it expanded to a pool dripping from between his white-knuckled fingers.

The first time, Magnus thought maybe Alec was dying and maybe he would die right along with him because they weren’t boyfriends, weren’t in love, but they were sort of friends and Magnus didn’t think he could watch another friend bleed out in his arms without falling even further apart.

His knees hit the tile floor so hard it left bruises - ugly purple splotches to remind him of the incident for three days straight until he zapped them away in a fit of frustration. His hands scrambled to remove Alec’s from the wound and replace them with his own, magic rushing to stop the bleeding and repair the torn muscle, torn skin, bruised bone.

The first time, Magnus was so shaken by the incident that even the knowledge that Alec hadn’t actually been anywhere close to death couldn’t stop his trembling. His throat felt like it’d been stuffed full of corrosive acid when it came time to let Alec return to the Institute, and he was so out of it that he spent an hour scrubbing the blood off the floor before he remembered his magic.

The first time was when Magnus realized that maybe Alec was more than a sort of friend and he maybe he did sort of love him and maybe he also sort of hated that, of all things, Alec had to be a shadowhunter.

The second time is different, if only by a margin. He still panics at the sight of blood streaked down the walls of the entryway, feels his heart constrict in his chest and his throat lock with fear. He still drops everything, still rushes to the kitchen so fast he’s nearly out of breath, still feels like if Alec dies a part of him will go too.

The difference, of course, is that his breath returns the moment he sees Alec leaned up against the counter. His heart slows, no longer a wild horse pounding its hooves to the earth of his chest, and his legs remain steady where they keep him momentarily rooted to the spot.

He swallows, takes a breath, jokes, “This is the second time I’ve found you bleeding out in my kitchen.”

It’s easier, if he jokes. If he looks at the man - _man_ , not boy, because Alec is perfectly capable of taking care of himself - that he loves and tells himself everything is fine because he trusts him. Because Alec wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t cough out a half-laugh, if it wasn’t.

It’s also harder, this time. So much worse.

Alec isn’t his sort of friend anymore, isn’t a guy he cares about in passing and would rather not see die right in front of him. Alec is Alec fucking Lightwood and Magnus loves him and the lips he loves to kiss are bloody and part of him is so, so terrified that he’ll never get to kiss them clean again.

Another part of him is slowly beginning to realize that maybe labels aren’t important and maybe he is willing to wait for Alec to be ready to use them, but what if he loses him before he ever really, _officially_ , has him?

He sighs, steps forwards until he’s hovering by his… by Alec’s side.

“Let me see,” he says, voice soft and touch feather-light as he brushes the skin of Alec’s neck. Alec withdraws his fingers from where they’d been holding a torn dishrag to the cut, trusting Magnus implicitly in that way he doesn’t anyone else. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

“It’s not,” Alec tells him, something fond to the almost smile he offers. There’s a light to his eyes that’s a little bit bright and a little bit gentle and a little bit insistent, and Magnus wishes he could tell him he loves him but he can’t. They’re not at that stage. He has to be slow, be careful, because Alec has never been at that stage with anyone before.

He hovers. He can’t help it. His fingers brush Alec’s skin, poking around the wound where he knows it won’t hurt, and his magic flutters just at the tips of his painted nails.

“Stop worrying,” Alec orders, brushing aside Magnus’s touch with a roll of his brilliant blue eyes and the same open expression he gave the last time Magnus healed him like this. “I didn’t come here because I needed you to heal me. I came because I wanted to see you. Because I’m tired and sore and upset and- And because you everything better.”

Magnus stares at him. At the cut he still hasn’t healed, at the blood on his lips and the purpling bruise near his eye. At the place where his fingers still wrap loosely around Magnus’s wrist, his skin cold and pale in stark contrast to Magnus’s warm and tan.

“Okay,” he says, but he heals Alec anyway, who rolls his eyes again but kisses him hard in gratitude. Magnus doesn’t even mind the blood on his lips or the wall or the kitchen floor.

The second time, Magnus says ‘fuck it’ and tells Alec he likes him a shitload, he wants him, and somehow manages to earn himself the title of ‘boyfriend’ rather than the unsubtle avoidance tactics and freak outs he’d been expecting.

The third time, Magnus steps through the door and heaves a great sigh like the whole world is conspiring against him. He drops his coat, takes off his heels, and dumps his spellbook unceremoniously on the couch as he heads towards the kitchen.

Alec smiles sheepishly where he grasps at his injured arm.

Magnus tells him he loves him, after. He wonders what kind of revelation he’ll have the next time this happens.


End file.
